Nothing But a StoryHighwayman EnglandxFem America
by JodieKeig2012
Summary: Living a double life, Arthur Kirkland is both a writer and a highwayman. His heart is captured by Amelia F Jones, but can he confront who he is? Based on my reader insert from deviantart. By PrincessJodie/JodieKeig2012
1. Chapter 1

It was midnight, and all one would be able to hear would be the pounding of hooves. The dusty ground seemed to vibrate with the sound, the ominous shadow of a black stallion hurtling around a shadowed corner. Even more so intimidating would be the emerald eyes staring out from beneath a tri-corn hat, the feline figure shrouded in ebony shadows as the creature galloped fluidly through the undisturbed country-side with rider and creature as one.  
Nobody had actually met nor truly seen the infamous highwayman, Arthur Kirkland, but that name seemed to make anyone become petrified with fright. Nothing but the stuff of legend some said, nothing but a rather outlandish fantasy; but even if the rumours spread about him weren't true he was still frightening all the same.  
Young Amelia Jones, by chance once encountered the formidable young man; and never in her entire life had she felt so strongly. Fear, perhaps, but most profoundly enchantment and adoration. From the awe-inducing, handsome face to the stregnth and cat-like agility; her heart as well as her parents money had been stolen away by the slender hands in the dead of the night.  
A simple smirk had crossed the mans face, but the girl must truly have mistaken it for a seductive, sultry glance. Inspired and captivated, time and time again she wished she could rendezvous with him. Even a mere sighting of him racing across the moors would be enough to satisfy her. Once she had been entranced by heroes, with golden hair and blue eyes, but now she craved the darkness. If only...

Arthur Kirkland himself had taken a shine to the young girl who had caught him red handed, and had then let him go. He had even heard the convincing lies she wove to distract her parents, crying dramatically and making them believe that she hadn't just witnessed him taking everything that belonged to them. Indeed, she was a peculiar young lady and if he could he'd want to see her again also.  
The only thing was, he actually saw her every day; but not as a beguiling stranger who was spoke of in whispers. In fact, he'd been living a double life for some time. Magnetic and specious by night without anyone knowing, provocative and ravishing- Nobody would even _dream_ that the book-binders son was the man who pillaged and enticed young women. He'd even convinced himself that he was two different people, trying to sheild his identity if someone even as much as glanced at him in a different way.

It was a light, fresh, envigorating spring day when the young man set out for the manor of his best friend and companion. Initially he had to care for an obnoxious young boy named Alfred, but now he wrote and told stories for the daughter of a noble-man: Amelia F Jones. It was so strange, the gentleman thought, how each time he returned here that things were so different. He was always changed too, but nobody asked him where he'd got his new clothes from; why he'd never remarked that his own modest home had never been stolen from. Everyone else in the town had been terrified, and the boy allowed himself a secretive smirk as he recalled how flustered the law enforcements had been about their inability to catch him. They wouldn't recognize him anyway, he kept his hair tied back and wore glasses that he didn't actually need by day.  
Adept at decieving the whole entire world that he knew, an unbeatable charlatan and swindler- Arthur knew he didn't want anything else. He didn't acutally know _why_ he masqueraded as a highwayman, but he adored the rush of adrenaline and the satisfaction that rebellion brought. The only time he'd visited a place for something other than stealing was, of course, when he had gone to see Amelia. He let himself grin again, knowing that the girl was entirely entranced and habituated to his alter-ego. She was always prone to chatting animatedly about him, and he always had to stand by with a sage smile as he listened to her predisposed, obsessed stories. He had to make things up about 'him' too, and he used the skill imbued on to him to his advantage. Whether he was known as a highwayman or not, Arthur was most definitely known as the best writer in the village and a silver-tounged gentleman who could get _anything_ he wanted despite his innocent facade.

Eventually reaching the engraved, cumbersone front door of his employers home, Arthur sighed. Along with telling stories, he also had to do anything else Amelia wanted; but it was a difficult task considering he was forbidden to go anywhere near the kitchens. Shutting the unmanageable, awkward thing behind him, he then began to trot up the stairs.  
"Amy~" He trilled up the stairs, black coat swirling around him as he paused to stare annoyed at a worn out patch on his navy breeches. Soon enough the girl appeared, smiling.  
"You're here!"  
"Evidently~" His arm was taken by the enthusiastic young girl, who was considerably shorter and far more childish than him. "But I've been waiting to tell you something amazing!" She chirped, tugging Arthur further up the staircase and into her room. "Now you're here, I can tell you that he came again!"  
"Who?" He pretended to not remember who she was so infatuated with, but hoped she didn't see the small smile.  
"Him! Arthur Kirkland!"  
"Are you sure?" He replied tenderly, adjusting a bow in the young womans' hair "Or are you just believing my stories a little _too_ much?~"  
"No, he did!" Her voice was indignant, and Arthur laughed. "If you say so, My Lady. Though it could have all just been a lucid dream?"  
She ignored him the second time he denied what she said. "Oh yes!" Her face then brightens "I need you to deliver something for me after I've eaten breakfast." She hands the brotherly young man a letter.  
"Might I ask what this is for?"  
"It's nothing, just a letter for my Aunt."  
"Then I shall deliver it as quickly as possible; she's very ill isn't she?"  
"...Yes. But first, fetch me my breakfast and tell me a story about-"  
"About _Him_?"  
"Most definitely."


	2. Chapter 2

"And so the self-proclaimed legend hurtled off into the sunset astride his majestic black stallion, never to be seen again..." Arthur let his voice drift off into a pregnant silence, which then became filled by gleeful cheers from his charge. Ruffling her wheat coloured, wavy locks and taking in her adorable cobalt eyes; he remarked to himself how much she seemed to love his stories. Really, they were just words, but all the same she seemed to believe them with all her heart. The young man then felt a tug on his shirt, jolted out of his thoughts.  
"Yes, Amy my dear?"  
"He will come back though, won't he?" Her eyes were filled with desperation and childish assumption, optimism and sanguineness. Arthur couldn't help but convince himself to convince her that he would in fact return. "Of course he will, poppet, of course he will..."  
"But what if he doesn't?"  
Arthur smiled, crouching down beside the girl sitting in the arm-chair "Amelia, I'm sure he will...and, in fact, I don't think he ever left." His emerald orbs were fixated on the oblivious girls face; if only she knew the extent of his feelings, if only she knew the true meaning behind his words and the face behind the mask.  
"I don't get it."  
"Maybe he dreams about you as much as you do him , maybe he loves you twice as much." His voice went soft and lulling, a comfort to the wistful young lady.  
Her eyes sparkled as she took in his face "It's almost as if you are him." Arthur stiffened, but also from the ghosting of fingers across his cheeks. "You seem to understand how he feels so well, as if you feel the same desperation." She didn't see the very same thing in her friends eyes as he stood up and turned away. If only she knew how forlorn, how irremediable his love really was. The young man adjusted his glasses with a gentle sigh. "I'm nothing but a story-teller, a wordsmith, Amy; and I do wish I was more, but alas some things are never meant to be. The only reason I understand is because I have the same longing for something, or someone in particular." He smiled weakly "Don't we all wish we could escape from this?"  
"Yes, sometimes I wish I could. But who on Earth do you love? You're so devoted to your work!"  
"That's the very thing."  
"You love your job?"  
Arthur smiled genuinely and tapped his nose with a slender finger "Mayhaps, but then that would be telling~"  
"Oh please, Arthur!~" And with that, the two began their day; all the while Arthur feeling pensive and desirous. At first glance Amelia didn't seem to realise how reflective, yearning and plaintive the young man was; but with a restive shrug she simply dismissed it as him having writers block or being uninspired. Surely he couldn't be that meditative about a mere legend, a hero that she'd perhaps never even meet again?

Later on that afternoon, Arthur had delivered the letter that Amelia had wanted him to; and was then heading back through the town as a short-cut. He hadn't paid any heed to the faded parchment posters that peeled off the grimy brick walls, but his gaze was immeadietly attracted to one when he realised he was staring into his own face. Of course it was a rather amature sketch of him, with comically large eye-brows, but all the same it was a startling and bewildering experience- He was moved, something like butterflies stirring in the pit of his stomach for all the wrong reasons. He hadn't realised he'd been thought so malicious as to be put on a wanted poster! Dead or alive too, and the reward was a handsome one...  
The green-eyed young man whipped around when he felt a hand on his shoulder; glasses knocked askew slightly. His face fell when he saw who had caught him looking at the image.  
"Oh, it's you Francis."  
"Indeed it is, mon lapin~ What are you doing on such a lovely day as this?"

Francis Bonnefoy wasn't a man whom you'd initially think bitter or detrimental; but he was all the same. Jealous, malignant, rancorous, petty and obsessed with women, among other things- Arthur Kirkland had hated him his whole life, detesting the fact that the blue-eyed man had sought to be a 'brotherly' figure towards him. He knew exactly what the French-man wanted though, and knew he also wanted to make his life a misery despite his seemingly innocent facade.  
The smaller blonde allowed himself a small, smug smile as he remembered the care he'd took when practically demolishing the older mans home. He'd caused an awful mess, and he'd taken a lot of pleasure when he was destroying Francis's favourite possession: a particularly expensive vase from the halls of some French palace. Of course it was expensive, and he'd have been better off stealing it, but he wanted to cause extra havoc for his life-long rival. Normally Arthur would touch barely anything at all, but that one time had been the only exception. And by the Queen he absolutely loved it. He'd also taken a journal belonging to the man, and had delighted in reading it. Even more so satisfying was the horrified look on Francis's face when he casually let slip some of his darkest secrets. Even though it wasn't particularly being a highwayman, sometimes Arthur would stoop to lower forms of crime just for his entertainment.  
And, as it always did, his guiltlessness and chastity always let him get away with it. Thought of as humble and righteous, Francis didn't even consider that Arthur would have gone as far as to sneak into his house (even though he had done).

The French-man followed his companion around the town, Arthur occasionally making a sour comment and pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "Why don't you just leave me alone, Francis!" He snapped, when his company had become too much.  
"I need to discuss something with you~" He said, placing a hand over his heart "I'm offended that you don't like spending time with me!"  
"Well, you could have told me earlier. I've got places to be, obligations, unlike you."  
"Fine, I'll cut straight to the point. I need you to give this to one of the maids for me." Arthur stared, pertrubed at a small parcel that had been retrieved out of the French-mans pocket. Whatever the item was, it was wrapped in white silk and tied up with lace. To tell the truth, the young Englishman didn't want to know what was inside, just so he wasn't possibly scarred for life.  
"Which maid is it?"  
"It isn't from me to her, it's for my friend Gilbert~"  
"Just tell me who it is, and then let me go."  
"It's a charming young la-"  
"Francis."  
"Elizaveta."  
"Fine." Arthur snatched the parcel out of the mans hands. "Though she won't like it, she's been making eyes at our piano tutor Rodereich for weeks now." He nodded quickly, not giving Francis enough time to say anything else as he hurtled away. He was late enough already, and he still had that blasted poster on his mind.

"Miss Amelia, I'm here!" Arthur called up the stairs, watching the annoyed Elizaveta disappear back into another room with the parcel from Gilbert in her hands. Soon enough Amelia appeared, skipping down the flight and then smiling widely.  
"Did you send it?"  
"Of course I did, My Lady."  
"Why do you call me that!"  
"I thought you liked the formality, and after all, didn't you say it made you feel royal?"  
"B-But I want you to call me by my own name now..."  
"Then I shall." Arthur nodded, smiling fondly "Is there anything else you need though, Amy? If you don't mind, I've been given the evening off."  
"Oh yes, because of the ball."  
"Yes. I didn't want to get in the way of the festivities."  
"While you're at home, will you think of another story for me?"  
"Anything for you~" He finished, before pivoting on his heel and heading towards the dusty trail that lead towards his cottage. Secluded and like something out of a children's book, it was private enough for the young man; and he knew for certain that it was impossible for anyone to find out about his secret identity. A bit of a shy young man who wrote books and lived on the edge of the woods, that's all he was and all he would be to everyone else. It was a satifsfying thing knowing that he had his own thrilling secret, his own way of escaping the trials of reality.

Really, the highwayman persona he had created for himself was nothing but a story, a character he had found appealing at first. He only ever thought to become one for real when the children had started singing the songs about him that he wrote; and when he felt that his life had become arduous and boring. It could have been just a rebellious phase, but all the same Arthur liked the liberation and the sensation that he got when becoming something that he wasn't. Truly, he'd never actually be heroic or brave- But when he was Him, an entirely different person, he could do anything.  
He wasn't disappointing, he wasn't a nobody.  
He wasn't weak or ridiculed.  
He was someone capable of being loved by Amelia. 


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur knew the ball would end around midnight, and so he waited. Clothed in ebony, vibrant eyes hidden by a mask; he felt like a predator about to pounce. It was rare that he worked so late, and his eyes felt heavy as the first coach careered around a corner in an explosion of dust. Racing through the heavy summer air, it almost crashed into the young gentleman as his horse reared in the middle of the road.  
This was it.  
A man with hooded eyes and stubble emerged from the carriage. He looked flustered and scared, cowardice all over his face as he staggered towards the masked figure. Most obviously a drunkard.  
"Stand and deliver..." Arthur purred, heart beating uncontrollably, the organ pounding ferociously against his rib-cage. He could smell the wine on the mans breath, every single butterfly drifting impetuosly through his stomach as he pointed the gun. "...Your money, or your life."  
The man didn't seem to hesitate, and the highwayman smirked as a sack of gold was tossed to him. Everyone knew the rumours, and thus far nobody had ever refused to give up their possessions to him. Until that moment.  
"Non, Uncle. Let me deal with this." Arthur groaned internally as none other than Francis stepped out of the vehicle. Chilling, ice-blue eyes met his. "Give me the money." He said firmly, and the Englishman laughed in return.  
"I don't think so _frog_...now why don't you just go home and-"  
Arthur yelled out in protest as he was seized by the cloak and yanked off his horse. "Oi, what are you doing!" He landed on the road, feeling the sting of the hard, unforgiving ground as it grazed his knees. Now those breeches were torn too...  
"I'm protecting my families honour." Francis announced, glowering down at the highwayman.  
"I've no honour, and I'm certainly no prince charming~" Arthur had to recover his calm, cool facade as he stood up straight. "I refuse to bow to you."  
As the arm of the Frenchman went to strike him, he grabbed the slender wrist and twisted it sharply behind the mans back. As he winced, Arthur also aimed a kick to the back of his knees and sent him sprawling to the ground. Within moments he was back on his horse, adrenaline pumping through his body as he sent his mount racing through the darkness. His hands were shaking violently, not only from the fact that he'd just assaulted someone (even if it was Francis) but there was a sudden look of recognition or cognizance written on the mans face as their eyes met. Exhaling, he realised he'd cut it too short this time, and that he didn't want to carry on for the rest of the night. Apprehensively he began to head home.  
What if Francis did realise? Could the game already be up?

Arthur woke up late that morning, hurrying to Amelia's house and emerging in a torrent of un-brushed hair and wonky glasses. Apologizing feverently, scurrying off to do his work, he occasionally stiffened up when it was mentioned that one of the Bonnefoy's had been attacked by the infamous Arthur Kirkland. Sometimes the disguised highwayman would remark that the French-man deserved it, but all the maids only thought of sending him gifts. Amelia herself wasn't particularly bothered, only enthusiastic about the fact that He had showed up again. After Arthur handed his latest story to her, rather reverently at that, she smiled. She didn't seem to notice how the young mans face lit up when she started reading with avidity; how he felt a surge of joy at the exhilaration and vivacity she demonstrated. She'd read the quick tale within moments, but it appeared that its magic had lasted a long time. Arthur had even been convinced by the girl into drawing some pictures to match the enticing, exquisite words. This also seemed to highten her mood.  
"I'm glad you like it, poppet." The gentleman had said cheerfully as he pottered around the garden tending to the roses that afternoon, the object of his affections tracing her fingers over the words. If she couldn't love him as he was, he was content enough with her loving who he pretended to be.  
"I'd like anything you wrote, Arthur." She said softly, angelic face radiating adoration "I really admire how talented you are, your life's wasted here."  
The young man paused, glancing towards her. "I can assure you that I'm perfectly fine where I am, and no matter how bewitching and beauteous my words may be I wouldn't ask for anything else."  
"But surely it's boring, being alone in that little cottage of yours? Didn't you say everyone wanted something more than they couldn't have?"  
"Indeed, but I guess I'm the only exception." He shrugged, smiling wistfully "It would be pleasant enough having people reading my work and such, but fame truly doesn't become me." He chuckled internally, knowing truly he was the most renowned and most prominent figure in their small village. As influential as he was though, he had started to have a different view on attention and being in the public eye; especially after what happened with Bonnefoy the day before.  
Another comment from Amelia jolted him out of his contemplation. "Arthur..." She began "Could I spend time with you though? Even if you don't want the attention, I...I like spending time with you." The two blushed, and the young man nodded.  
"I'm fine with that." He gave a sentimental little smile "It'll be lovely to be able to show you where the magic happens."  
"Is this afternoon alright?"  
"Pardon, Amy my dear?"  
"Today. Now, even." The expression in her eyes was amorous and indulgent; she also looked rather satisfied about the chance she was getting "I've nothing better to do, and I'm sure father won't mind."  
"If that's what you want, love."

A little while after, the two began to ride through the woods until they reached Arthur's cottage. The masquerading young man found it peculiar seeing the noblewoman in his own environment, even more so strange the fact that he was beginning to see a different side to her. Relaxed and care-free, yet still stately and eminent; she was speaking to him as if he were family or a close friend. She even revealed that she had always wanted to see the land around the manor, but more often than not she had to stay and study. She was even more so delighted that she was getting to see her life-long friends home too.  
Eventually the two reached the quaint little building, and the girl gasped in awe at the quirky little structure. With white-washed, declivous walls that seemed to lean inwards, charcoal coloured beams and a thatched roof; it was the very embodiment of the sort of thing she'd expect from a fairy-tale. Peering through the windows as Arthur fished his key out of his pockets, he shot a soft smile at her. "Do you like it?"  
"I love it! It's so pretty~" Then gliding through the wooden front door, she looked around some more. There was a gargantuan fire-place, sooty and laden with burnt firewood- Along with the faint scent of incinerated food and then the overpowering aroma of roses. She'd noticed the abundant growth of the beautiful peach blooms right away, remembering also that they were her companions favourite flowers. Arthur pulled out Amelia's chair for her as she took a seat at his dining table. All of the furniture was mis-matched, but it was easily ignored considering the knick-knacks and various treasures lining the vast book-cases that were far more interesting. "Would you like some tea, poppet? Scones?"  
"I'll just have some tea, please." Amy chirped, admiring an ornate little box on a dresser. "Where on Earth do you get all of these peculiar little things?" She added, gasping in delight as she pulled out a silver necklace. It was a brilliantly carved thing, with an atramentous, inky onyx stone in the centre. The raven-coloured gem was rougly hewn, but it seemed to swirl with enticing shades of midnight blue and mossy green when she held it up to the light.  
Arthur smiled at her again as she tried on the necklace "They're all things that have been passed down to me from family and friends, though some of it's just things I've brought from the market." Hopefully that lie would suffice.  
"I've never seen things like these before though..." The young lady mused, winding strings of pearls between her fingers. There were a few more old coins, and even a broken compass that kept spinning and jerking violently. "You're awfully lucky to have such nice things." She remarked again, sipping from the tea-cup that had been placed beside her.  
"They're nothing, just what remains of my past. Before we first met I never used to live here, but there were a few life-style changes and I brought all I could with me." Arthur gave a sigh of longing "But there are still things that I so sorely want." _How can I lie so fluently to her?_ he thought. "Like what?"  
"I can't say."  
"Please?"  
"No, why don't you come and see the rest of this funny little place instead?"  
"Oh, ok..." Amelia couldn't help but wonder what Arthur so sorely wanted, feeling as if she wished she could know absolutely everything about him. Every minute that passed she felt like she was falling for him, and she hoped he felt the same. But, as most of the servants did, Arthur no doubt had a double life; obligations outside work.  
Standing up and following the young man, he beckoned her into his bedroom and study.

The room was considerably large, but an elaborately carved desk took up most of the space on the feature wall. Painted white, a stark contrast against the dark wall-paper, it was littered with paper, inkwells and stacks of bound books. It was strangely intimate, seeing the space that he worked in, but he seemed incredibly welcoming all the same. Sinking into the slightly creaky bed, Arthur smiled. It was a fairly rare thing to see, considering Amelia never really used to pay attention to anything other than his stories, but she felt her heart flutter at the radience of that simple guesture. Perfectly at home, and far more even-tempered than he was at work, the composed young man seemed to be the very picture of nonchalance as he patted the spot beside him.  
"Do you want to sit?" The young lady nodded, resting her head casually on his shoulder as her eyes drifted to the view outside his window. There was a small stream meandering down a grassy bank, trees forming a canopy and sheilding the cottage from view save for a gap in the leaves where you could see the fields in the distance. A few horses trotted across the tranquil, undisturbed scenery too. Amy could see why Arthur adored his home so much, how he got his inspiration.

Later on, Amelia and Arthur read some more of the young mans work. Baffled at how he could write so beautifully, how he could draw her in with his silver-tounged words; she desperately hoped that she could get to know the mind behind the stories better. The imagination couldn't be faulted, and a faint blush crossed the gentleman's countenance as she gushed compliments.  
"I don't deserve your praise, my dear..." Arthur murmured softly, entwining his and his her fingers "I'm nothing but a lost soul, seeking solace in words. I really shouldn't though, they don't really make anything better..."  
Detesting the melancholy in the mans voice Amelia, looked up at him determinedly "You shouldn't think like that. You make your own destiny, and you...you just have this_ thing_ about you that makes me fall head-over-heels in love with you. I've never met anyone so clever, yet you're so lonely all the same! I just don't understand!"  
"I don't know if you would, even if I did explain. Nobody has ever understood me."  
"I want to, though."  
"How can you, if I can't even do so myself?"  
"But you're just _amazing_!" Amelia lowered her voice a little, realising she'd been raising it in indignation "I don't know who you are when you're away from me, what you think, but you're my best friend and I admire you with all my heart..." Her hands rested on both of his shoulders, her eyes pleading "Please understand, Arthur, that no matter who you are I'll always love you." And with that, she kissed him. Eyes widening, Arthur snaked his arms around her waist to gain purchase on something. He didn't know what to think, what to feel as he then pulled back in embarassment.  
"...I...I..." He stammered, pressing his fingers to his mouth and looking like a rabbit before a fox "I...Amy..."  
"I'm sorry, if that isn't what you wanted.  
"N-No!" The young man began to laugh, embracing her tighter "I-I do want this, I love you too..."  
As they kissed again, Arthur couldn't help but still feel his heart sink too. Yes, it was out in the open how they felt, but he still endangered himself and Amelia by doing what he did. The thought of the romance being forbidden was a thrilling thing though, and smiling widely he tried to push the depressing thoughts out of his mind.

_No matter **who** you are..._


End file.
